


you're different

by WellyFullOfAle



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Angry Sex, Canon Compliant, M/M, NSFW, Rimming, actual conversations happen, angsty, bareback, reveal aftermath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 14:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11163354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WellyFullOfAle/pseuds/WellyFullOfAle
Summary: So this is based on a text post i jokingly made on tumblr basically suggesting that the reason we didn't get to see Aaron and Robert having a conversation after Aaron visited Rebecca in the Reveal Aftermath was because they'd had it out with one another whilst angry fucking and therefore it couldn't be shown at 7pm.And so I wrote it...





	you're different

**Author's Note:**

> warning for a little bit of rough sex. Aaron is angry, after all.

Your blood’s boiling.

You’re counting backwards from 10.

You’re listening to the sound of your inhale and your exhale.

You’re trying to remember what else your counsellor told you to do.

It’s not working, because every time you think your blood pressure is decreasing, you can hear the sound of her voice in the back of your head.

_Save yourself, Aaron. Leave him._

Who does she think she is?

You hate that she thinks she knows you; thinks she knows anything about your relationship with Robert; thinks the two of you are like every other couple walking the earth.

You know you’re not; you never have been.

The rules don’t apply when it comes to your marriage.

The thing with you and Robert is that it shouldn’t make sense – there should be nothing about the two of you together that works – and life had tried to keep you apart in much worse ways than this before. The way you’d started, and the things you’d been through together, and the things you’d said to one another along the way.

The way you’d hurt one another.

But it was all nothing compared to the way you love another; the way you’d always loved one another.

The way you _still_ love one another, despite all this.

That was what you promised him yesterday, anyway – to stand by him, to stop hurting one another – because you know it might be killing you now, but you see why he did it, and you understand him better than anybody ever has done before in his life, and you’re not ready to give up on him, and you’re not ready to let yourself lose the best thing in your life because of what _Gordon’s_ voice in your head made you believe.

You _will_ forgive him; and you _will_ fight for your marriage.

It doesn’t make what he did okay, though.

And you’re allowed to be angry.

You said you would forgive him – and you will.

But right now, you’re angry.

You hate that he’s given her a reason to be able to talk to you like that – to be able to try and break you apart from within. You hate that she thinks you’re the same – you and her – in that you’re both victims to Robert Sugden’s destructive charm; that you’re both in his orbit with the same weight and gravity.

You know she’s nothing more than a speck of dust to him, and that you’re his entire universe.

You _know_ that.

You just _hate_ that his weakness let her think she’s so much more to him now; that his weakness will let her have a hold over him that won’t ever cease.

That she’s going to give him a child, and that the child will be with him for the rest of his life.

That she’s going to be there for the rest of his life. _Your_ life.

There goes that blood pressure again.

A fresh wave of rage washing over you; a renewed flood of tears pouring down your face.

You hit your palm against the steering wheel three – four – times over, aware that your foot slams down on the accelerator as you do it, and you steel yourself in enough time before you reach the village in order to slow down, before you’re careering down the driveway of this house Robert all but built for you.

You yank up the handbrake and get out of the car, slamming the door with such force the whole car shakes, and you know he must have heard your exhaust booming down the driveway because he’s out of the door before you’ve even reached it, and he’s reaching out to you in more than just the physical sense.

“Aaron –”

“Inside!”

You can’t talk to him out here.

And you need to do more than talk, anyway.

You need to prove to yourself – and to her voice inside your head now – that Robert is _yours,_ and that he always will be; that you and Robert can’t ever be over.

He follows you in, and you can feel his presence behind you before you hear him shut the door, and you round on your heels and grab the material of his shirt in your hands as you slam him back up against it, the light shining through the stained glass and encompassing him like he’s the complete opposite of what he is.

You take him by surprise as you push your lips against his, but it only takes him all of half a second to respond against you, to open up and let your tongues slide against one another, and you let your teeth dig into his bottom lip as you kiss him; need him to know this one won’t be gentle.

He knows what you’re doing; knows that you need this from him.

You’re vigorous with it, and he matches you back in equal measure, pushing back against you, grabbing at your biceps firmly as he pulls you in towards him.

He grunts low in his throat, and you feel him leaning in to you, and you shove back with your fists to push him back against the door again.

He curses with the impact; your lips pulling apart momentarily before you launch back against him.

He grabs at the shoulders of your hoodie and pulls it away from you, and you unfist your hands from his shirt for the split second it takes for him to tear your hoodie from you and to grab at your t-shirt and yank it over your head.

You meet your lips to his again, and he’s ready for you this time, and you can feel the force of his fingertips digging into your waist as he pulls you close to him; desperate.

You work at the buttons of his shirt impatiently.

You rip away the last two buttons, and you feel his digging fingers whip away from you as he lets you shove the shirt from his shoulders.

His body is warm against yours, and you can feel his fingers snaking in between you; can hear the sound of your belt buckle opening as he pulls you close and pushes your jeans towards the floor, hands grabbing at the muscle of your arse as he draws you in close to him.

You pull away from his lips with a renewed need for his promise.

“Tell me you love me,” you demand from him, because you _need_ to hear those words from him; need him to negate everything she’s just said to you a million times over.

“Aaron, you know – ”

“Tell me,” you repeat, hissing through gritted teeth alongside another shove against his chest.

Your body is pressed up against his, and you can feel the heat from him seeping into you, and it sends something rushing through you unwittingly.

You can’t deny it’s there.

“Aaron you know I love you,” he tells you, eyes fixed on yours as he does so, full of desperation and an authenticity that you can’t ignore.

His hands snake up your arms and grab at your biceps, squeezing at the muscle gently as you watch his eyes flick down to your lips and back up to your eyes again.

Sometimes you hate how much you want him.

“I only want you,” he tells you, and you bite down on your gum as you clench your fists a little tighter, pushing a little more against him to let him know you’re not placated by his words.

Except you are.

You can feel his heart beat against the fist that’s clenched by his chest, and it’s racing in time with your own, and you know you’re helpless with it.

“Tell me I’m different,” you beg of him, lip curled as you omit the words _from her_ at the end of your sentence.

His expression falters; flickering with something that looks a lot like the pain that runs through you now.

“You’re different ,” he tells you, and you clench your teeth on hearing it. “You’re the exception,” he adds. “No one comes close.”

It stabs into you, because you remember the times he’s said that line to you before, and you remember how each time you wanted so desperately to believe him, and yet he’s done this to you still.

You glare at him, and you snap as you pull at his arms and spin him around, pushing his chest up against the stained glass of the door as you loom up behind him.

“You’ve said that before,” you whisper into his ear, side helping of venom in there despite the kiss you follow it up with against his neck, in that spot that makes him so weak for you.

It works again, and you feel his body shudder beneath your touch as you interlink your fingers with his and hold his palms flat against the door as you bite at his skin; marking him in that way that he never usually wants you do but he’s letting you now.

You pull away and see the purpling of his skin, and you smile with it.

He’s yours.

You kiss it better, and he groans with pleasure at the sensation of it, and he’s got every idea what you’ve got planned for him, and you’re sure you can feel him trembling with the anticipation of it.

You slide your hands down his arms as you push rough kisses down his back, his chest rebounding against the door with every push of your lips against his skin, and you’re lowering yourself to your knees as your hands reach the waistband of his jeans, and you grab at his jeans and boxers, yanking them down in one swift movement, leaving them to puddle on the floor beneath him.

“Tell me how I’m different,” you say to him; demanding.

He grunts as you bite against the roundness of his arse cheeks, letting your teeth dig into him and following each time with a kiss to soothe it.

He pushes back against your lips, and you know sometimes he needs it like this, and you intend to give it to him.

You need his words though, so you ask him again.

“Tell me how I’m different.” To _her._

You’re squeezing at his cheeks, and your thumbs are teasing their way towards where you know he wants you, and you let the pad of your left thumb push against his rim slightly, and he whimpers with it, hands forming into fists that he slams them against the door.

“Tell me,” you demand from him again, and you let your thumbs pull his cheeks apart, and you let your tongue lick a strip alongside your thumb, teasing him in the cruellest way you can.

You know he’s so desperate for you like this.

You’re not going to give it to him until he tell you what you want from him, though.

“You’re everything she’s not,” he whispers, and you hear him, but you need him to be surer of it; need it with all the conviction he has.

You lick against your thumb, letting your saliva slick it up enough to take some of the sting away.

“Louder,” you beg of him as you push your thumb up against his rim again, and you tease him as you circle around the muscle with just the right amount of pressure to send his head spinning.

“You’re everything,” he cries out, and you feel his legs buckle somewhat underneath him as your thumb breaches past his muscle and you open him up.

“More,” you demand from him as you push your thumb in further, feeling his delicious heat, pushing in further, slowly, as you slick up two fingers of your other hand with saliva.

“You changed everything,” he blurts out, between whimpers, his hips pushing back against your thumb until you decide he needs more, and you pull your thumb from him and replace it with the index finger of you other hand, pushing in without build up, relishing the gasp that escapes from your husband as he feels you breach into him.

“I love you,” he hisses out as you work your spit-slicked fingers into him, and he’s separating his legs apart as far as they can go whilst he’s still got his trousers bunched at his ankles.

You feel it puncture into you, because those words will never not consume your whole heart, even if they’re tinged now with the way that he’s hurt you, and the way that he ripped your heart from your chest and tore in in two the day before.

“More,” you beg of him as you push another finger inside, and he’s whimpering now more than usual, and he’s pushing back against you because he wants this, _needs_ this, as much as you do.

His words are hitched on ragged breaths, and you think you might have taken his breath away, but you push into him still, a third finger now, and you let him tremble with it as he fucks himself on your fingers as they split him open.

“I’m selfish,” he admits, his pitch increasing slightly as your fingers brush against his prostate and there’s that knee tremble again.

It usually renders him helpless, but you feel like he knows how much you need to hear this; knows that you’ve just been to see _her_ and that your self-confidence is weakened at the best of times, let alone with her words echoing around your mind.

“I’ve never wanted to change for someone before,” he admits to you, his words stuttered and broken through the panting and the heaving breaths he’s being forced to take as you push into him.

“I’ve always used people,” he continues, and his voice is breaking now as he’s whimpering and pushing himself down onto your fingers.

“I can’t do that with you. I can’t do anything but love you.”

Something blossoms inside of your chest at his words, and for a split second it almost makes you _more_ angry than you had been before – because how could he have betrayed you like this if it was really true?

“You’re the only person I can’t lie to,” he adds in that same breathy, broken way, and you don’t expect it to work but it dissipates your anger somewhat.

You carry on your assault of his senses with a renewed vigour.

There’s something about having him like this – where he’s helpless and fucked out and wanton for what only you can give him – and you needed to feel it after seeing her.

You needed to claim him in some way.

You needed to remind him what the two of you are capable of together; how you can tear each other’s worlds apart in the best possible way.

You needed him to know you had no intention of listening to _her,_ even if he had no idea what she’d said.

You could never leave him – not when he’d broken the habit of his lifetime in admitting his mistake to you.

You think he might have earnt a little more from you, so you shuffle forwards on your knees and you pull your fingers from him as you pull his cheeks apart slightly, and you can tell he knows what’s coming from the sharp intake of breath he takes, and you tease him with your tongue for all of three seconds before you let it push in past his rim and you feel his whole body jolt with it, as if he hadn’t been expecting you to actually give him what he wanted.

“Fuck, I love you Aaron,” he barely manages to let out as he pushes his arse back onto your tongue, whining with the sensation of it as he always does, delirium setting in as he tries to give you more but his words are failing him; tongue twisting over the groans that spill from his mouth as you start to feel that ache in your tongue.

You reach around, grabbing at his leaking cock and stripping at it furiously with your fist.

He’s broken with it; helpless.

Sounds are tumbling from him at the speed of light but they’re incoherent, and his hips are rolling haphazardly with the physical manifestation of his desperation for you.

You realise he’s close, and you know you’re not going to make it easy for him – you want to punish him in some way, still, for what he did – and you give him a last few seconds of pleasure until he’s almost tipped over the edge, and then you pull yourself away.

He whimpers – _begs_ – as you pull all contact away from him, and he’s stepping backwards as his body tries to follow in your direction in order to feel you inside him again.

But you’ve got plans for that.

He turns and looks back at you over his shoulder as you get up to your feet, and you know he thinks you’re going to walk away from him.

It kills you that he still doesn’t trust that you’ve forgiven him.

“Aaron,” he lets out as his voice breaks on it, and it makes your heart jump into your throat.

You have no real intention of denying him this.

He starts to peel himself away from the stained glass door and turn to face you.

It’s as if he’s been waiting for this moment – when you realise you’re not capable of forgiving him -  and you can see it written all over his face that he’s just waiting for you to change your mind and to walk away from him.

To realise that he doesn’t deserve you.

You realise that he’s _scared_ to lose you.

You need him to know that you’re not going there.

You quickly grab at your already solid dick, and you step up close against him as you use your free hand to push him back around so that his chest is pressed up against the door again, and you’re sure you see the smile wash over his features as he realises what you’re about to do.

That you’re not running away from him.

You crowd in behind him, and you’re working at your dick to get it ready for him, and you line yourself up behind him as he tilts his hips back to give you the angle you need.

You’ve already worked him open, and you hope that he’s spit-slicked enough from your tongue that he can take you.

Sometimes he likes to feel the sting a little.

You press your chest up against his back, and you can feel his clammy skin against your own and you feel heady with it – the smell of sweat and sex filling up the room – and you wonder if maybe this is what your front room is always going to smell like.

He tugs in a breath as you push yourself into him, and he’s hissing through his teeth with the sting you know he’s feeling.

“You okay?” you ask him, because it’s still important even though you might be a little mad at him. “You want me to stop?”

“Dontyoufuckingdare,” he begs of you, and you smirk with it as you dip in with your lips and kiss at the spot on his neck that makes him weak without fail.

You alternate between biting down on his skin – marking him as your own with the purpling bruises that appear – and kissing the pain away as you feel his hips rock back into you with every thrust of your hips.

You usually start off slowly, but you’re pounding away at him within no time, almost as if the anger you’d had coursing through your veins was manifesting itself into the need to have him helpless at your mercy, and you only let up with your assault on his senses when you think he’s getting close to release.

You don’t want to make it that easy for him.

You love him.

But you’re still mad at him.

“I love you,” he whispers out – a word on each breath – each syllable fitting in with the rhythm of your hips as you fuck into him.

“I’m sorry,” he adds.

You still with it.

You tense up.

You know he feels it, and you know he thinks he’s ruined it.

But you know he’s sorry, and you’re not going to let it stop you.

You slow it down, but you continue to fuck into him as you lick you tongue up that delectable trail from his neck to his earlobe.

“How could you do it?” you whisper into his ear, and you can feel the tears stinging at your eyes as you blink them back. “You hurt me, Robert,” you continue, and you know it might be screwed up to be spilling your heart out like this as you’re picking up the pace and fucking into him still, but then sex has always been the best language the two of you know how to speak.

“I’m sorry,” is all he offers you through ragged breaths, his hands balling into fists now that he bangs against the stained glass window, and you know he can’t stand what he’s done to you.

You snake a hand around his waist and let your palm lie flat against his chest as you hold his body flush against your own – skin on skin and every inch of your body plastered up against the back of your husband – and you let your other hand slip around to work at his dick again.

“She thinks she knows me,” you tell him, and you can feel the anguish in his expression even if you can’t see it. “She thinks she knows _us –_ ”

“She doesn’t,” he lets out in desperation, and it’s followed by a cry as he pushes his hips back into you again, and you know he’s close. “She’s nothing to me.”

“Did she make you feel like this?” you ask him, and you know you shouldn’t, but you need to hear him say it.

“No,” he answers you without hesitation. “She made me feel nothing,” he adds, and his voice is more measured than it had been – than it should be, considering you’re balls deep inside him and he’s about to come all over your fist – but it’s as if he needed you to know that it’s true.

“And me?” you ask him, and you immediately hate how desperate you sound, but you hope he lets you get away with it in the haze of your intimacy. “How you I make you feel?”

“Aaron,” he’s begging of you, and you slow down your assault of his cock with your fist as you assume he’s struggling to function with the overload on his senses, and you need to hear his answer. “Aaron, I love you,” he pants out as he’s still pushing back against you to feel the push of your length inside of him. “You’re the best I’ve ever had, Aaron. I’ll never find this with anyone else.”

You rest your forehead against his shoulder.

“You’ll never need to look,” you tell him, and you hope in the bottom of your heart that it’s true.

And with it, you pick your pace up again as you fuck into him, stripping his cock with your fist still, and you know it won’t take much to get him there.

Within seconds you feel the clench of his muscles around you before you hear the expletives dropping from his lips, and you push into him as you feel his orgasm ripple through him as he spills out over your fist, his own fists punching against the door as his body sinks back into you.

You feel yourself slipping with the thrum of his muscles twitching around your dick as it stays buried inside of him, and within seconds you feel yourself tipping over, consumed by your own release as you call out his name and bury your head into the crook of his neck as you let your lips ghost over his skin.

You stay there for a few moments in the haze of the aftermath, delirious with the effect you have on one another, regaining composure, recapturing the breath that you’d stolen from one another.

When you pull out from him you grab for a tissue from the coffee table and you let him clean himself up, and you have a crushing realisation that you’ve fucked him bareback and that you shouldn’t be doing that anymore after what he did – that you’ll need to get yourselves tested – and you feel a resentment rise up inside of you again that he’s done this to the two of you.

He pulls his trousers up as he turns around to smile at you, but when he sees the look on your face his smile drops. He grabs at the back of your head and he pulls you into his embrace, enveloping you with his love as you start to actually let his assurances drown out the doubt that _she_ had planted into your psyche earlier on.

“She said I should leave you,” you tell him as he wraps his arms around you.

He squeezes you, and you wrap your arms around him in return as you feel his lips place a kiss against your shoulder.

“You probably should,” he says to you. “I don’t deserve you.”

You have to catch your breath, because you know that this is the vulnerable side to Robert that nobody else gets to see but you.

The side to Robert that _she_ will never get to see.

“The baby is gonna change things,” you whisper into his shoulder, and you half hope that he doesn’t hear you.

He does, and he pulls you back and holds you at arm’s length so that he can look you in the eyes as he speaks to you.

“It won’t –”

“Stop,” you beg of him, because you need him to listen to you. “Stop pretending it won’t, Robert. It will, and I know you say you want nothing to do with it Robert but this is going to be your _son_ or your _daughter_ , and you don’t know how you’ll feel when it’s born – ”

“I won’t even see it – ”

“That’s not the point I’m making, Robert,” you insist as he finally drops his shoulders and lets himself listen to you. “It’s bound to happen, Robert. You’re bound to feel something when it’s finally here. Just, don’t lie to yourself, and don’t lie to me, okay?”

You stop and wait for him to nod back at you.

“And if you….if you decide…when it’s here,” you look to the floor because you can’t look him in the eye as you tell him this. “If you decide…you want to be in the baby’s life, and if you….if you wanna be with her, then – ”

“Aaron, stop!” he snaps at you, and there’s such a force behind his words that it jolts you into silence. “Don’t ever let yourself think that will happen, Aaron, okay.”

You look back at him but you don’t offer him a response.

You don’t want to bring up the fact that you’d tried not to let yourself think he’d ever sleep with her and that he’d gone and done it anyway, but you know this is different.

“I don’t want her. I never wanted her, okay?” he asks you, and he waits for you to offer a shrug in response before he continues. “I didn’t want her years ago. I didn’t want her when I left her for Chrissie. I didn’t want her when…when you were in prison. She’s never been enough for me. Never, do you understand, Aaron? She has never and she will never be anything to me.”

You catch his eye, and he lifts his palm up to your face to wipe away the tears that you hadn’t even realised were falling.

“Tell me you believe that?”

There’s a desperation to his tone that you can’t help but trust.

You nod back at him as he wipes away another tear from your other cheek.

“Whether she’s a woman, or she’s rich, or she’s carrying my baby, she will NEVER be anything to me, Aaron. She will never compare against you, I promise you that. Okay?”

He waits for you to nod again, and then he places his palms on your cheeks and he draws you in for a kiss, and you feel like he’s trying to heal your broken heart with every kiss he’s given you since the day before.

A part of you thinks it’s actually working.

You pull away, and you wipe your own tears now with the cuffs of your sweater that you’ve got pulled down over your hands.

“I want to forgive you, Robert,” you explain to him quietly, and with a vulnerability that is so alien to you. “I know it’s going to be hard enough if she’s here and she’s carrying your baby,” your voice breaks involuntarily on the word, and you feel for a second like you’ve been punched in the chest.

You can tell he notices it, and he swallows down and looks back at you with those eyes that made you so sure of his genuine regret when you’d stared into them yesterday.

You take a deep breath to compose yourself as he wills you to finish your sentence.

“But it’s only going to be worse if you don’t talk to me, Robert, and if you don’t trust me. If you give _her_ a reason to think she’s got a chance with you, or if she thinks that we’re not coping or that we’re gonna break up or something. She probably still thinks she’s got a chance with you, or that this is her way back in or – ”

“She only thinks any of that because she’s got no idea how much I love you, Aaron,” he interrupts.

His words whip the wind from your sails for a moment, and you’re sure a flicker of a smile ghosts over your lips.

“Let her delude herself if she wants, Aaron,” he explains further as he holds your face in his palms and shuffles a little closer to you. “I’ve told her enough times, and I’ll carry on telling her. It’s not going to change. You’re the love of my life, Aaron.”

You bite the inside of your gums to stop yourself from grinning at him.

You’re still a little angry, after all, but you suppose the sex and this chat has placated you a little.

You’re just not sure you’re going to make it that easy for him, and you’re also aware that you’re just going to have to wait and see how he really feels over the next few months.

You’ve promised to stand beside him, and that’s what you intend to do.

Your love is far too great to let one mistake and its consequences ruin you; you’ve been through too much to let circumstance beat you, after all.

You welcome his embrace as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close, and you realise that he’s still your home, despite everything, so you settle into his arms, and you stay there for what feels like hours.

 

-s-

 

Later on that evening, you’re lying on the sofa with just your socks on, and Robert is lying above you, in between your legs, buried deep inside of you, naked as he gently rolls his hips as he pushes inside of you.

If you were sentimental, you might say this was _making love._

As it turns out, you’re probably more sentimental than you’d ever let on.

He’s looking down at you as he maintains his gentle rhythm, and you hold his gaze, and for a fleeting second it reminds you of the first time you saw this look in his eye.

You’d been at Home Farm for the week whilst Chrissie was away, and you’d had all the time in the world at last, and you’d found out that even though the two of you had always done rough and rushed and passionate with such perfection, nothing was quite as mind-blowing and all-consuming as having Robert take it slow and make it last, savouring every moment as he looked down over you like you were the only thing that mattered in his entire world.

“I love you,” he tells you, and it brings you back into the present, despite reminding you still of the way he’d said those words to you in this same position all those years ago as you’d lain in Chrissie’s bed.

“I know,” you reply to him, and he smiles like he doesn’t feel worthy of it. “I love you, too.”

“I know,” he says as he swoops in and places a kiss against your lips.

“Are we gonna be okay?” he asks, and your heart jumps into your mouth.

You know it’s going to be hard, and you know it’s going to hurt, but if there’s one thing you know above anything else, it’s that you don’t work without Robert, and he doesn’t work without you.

So you tell him exactly that.

He kisses you again once the words have left your lips.

“Thank you,” he says to you, and you see how genuine it is when you look into his eyes.

“Just promise me something,” you ask of him, and he stills the gentle rocking of his hips between your legs.

 

“Anything,” he replies, and you know he can’t actually promise you everything you want him to – not anymore – but you decide not to answer with your usual sarcasm.

“Don’t leave me out – ”

“Never,” he interrupts, but he stops when he sees the look on your face.

“Robert, listen to me,” you beg of him, and he nods as he waits for your elaboration. “The only way we can do this together, is if we _do this together._ I don’t trust her, Robert, and I don’t want her to use this to come between us. So promise me, please, that you won’t shut me out, and that you’ll talk to me.”

“ ’Course, anything,” he says to you sincerely, and you believe him.

“We’re not the best at talking, Rob, but we need to learn how to do it better. I’m never going to stop loving you, okay, so you need to stop hiding things from me, even if you think I’m not gonna like them, and even if you think you’re doing it to help me.”

He nods at you, and you know that he understands.

“Okay, I promise you,” he tells you, and you can sense there’s more. “But you need to do it too, okay. No shutting me out. We’re together Aaron – we’re married – and you need to learn to share things with me if they’re on your mind – ”

“I know I do,” you tell him, and it’s the truth. You _do_  know you need to do that.

“I’ll help you,” he tells you for the second time in as many days, and it makes something bloom inside of your chest that makes your breath catch in your throat.

“And I’ll help you,” you promise him back, and you see it has the same effect on him as it did on you by the way he has to take a deep breath as he smiles down at you.

“I love you,” you add, just to make sure that he knows it.

“I love you, too,” he tells you, and you believe him wholeheartedly.

He leans in and kisses you like it’s the first time, and in some ways it feels like a new start for the both of you.

And just to make sure you’re both aware of how much you love one another, you don’t leave that sofa for good few hours.

What else do you do when you’re home alone with your husband on a Friday night, after all?

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it. Come say hi on tumblr - wellyfullofale


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